


The Slayer and The Sinner

by the_rogue_bitch



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years
Genre: Call bumbles his way through feels what are those, Call goes to a funeral, Call goes to a murder, Crossover, Gen, Time Travel, basically a fluffy story about a massacre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 18:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2238252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rogue_bitch/pseuds/the_rogue_bitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Call learns about vampires from a time-traveling Buffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Slayer and The Sinner

It was midnight, and the sky was an endless field of stars. Call’s breath plumed from his mouth. It was chilly for late August. Quiet, too. 

Too quiet.

Call reined in the Hellbitch, who gave no sign of disagreement. Whatever was out there unsettled her as well.

They moved as silently as they could through the town. All the good folk were asleep in their beds. But the saloon should still have been open. 

Why wasn’t the saloon open? 

Call halted the Hellbitch and dismounted as quietly as jingling spurs and tack would allow. He stood still, listening, straining all his senses. Took a deep breath --

\-- and it struck him. The rich, coppery tang of fresh-spilled blood. For it to have reached Call outside, though, could mean a couple of things: either the spilled blood was nearby, or there was a lot of it.

Call strode toward the saloon, all stealth abandoned. The stairs to the boardwalk were slippery. Call had a queasy feeling in his stomach that told him it was more than just spilled beer on those steps. 

In all his years as a bounty hunter, Call had seen many horrors. But nothing could have prepared him for the exuberant carnage that met his eyes just inside the door of the saloon. 

Everyone in the barroom was dead. 

Not just dead, but mutilated, their throats savaged and bodies splayed in manic contortions. Blood spattered in feathery patterns across the walls, sometimes reaching the ceiling. Patrons were broken dolls thrown haphazardly, resting in piles on the floor or across the bar. Dozens of pairs of dead eyes regarded Call blankly as he stood, stunned, in the doorway. Everywhere he smelled the meaty stench of fresh blood. The floor was inches deep with it. 

“Tsk tsk,” came a voice behind Call. “Such waste.”

Adrenaline spiking, Call spun around with his gun drawn. On the boardwalk was the palest man he had ever seen. In the starlight he was as white and blue as a fresh snowbank. Only snowbanks didn’t look like animated cadavers or wear immaculate suits.

“What happened here?” Call rasped out, gun pointed at the stranger. 

“My children were hungry,” the man explained. “Unfortunately, they lack finesse or patience. What a mess.” The man clicked his tongue again in disapproval.

“Hungry?” Call repeated, trying to wrap his mind around it. “You saying these people were eaten?”

“Exsanguinated, actually,” said another person from further down the boardwalk. Call flicked his eyes towards the sound, unwilling to let the strange pale man out of his direct line of sight. 

A petite blonde woman walked up to the two men. Call wished he had brought his sawed-off, so he could draw on her too, just in case. 

“Galen,” she purred, “I’ve finally caught up with you.”

“Slayer,” the man hissed. “You may think you have me, but as usual, your reach exceeds your grasp.”

“Grasp this,” the woman quipped as she launched herself at the man she called Galen. He backhanded her and sent her over the boardwalk railing. She executed a roll and ended up on her feet, holding a sharp piece of wood.

Call couldn’t believe his eyes. Was this woman going to kill that man with a _stick_? Was she crazy? Where was her gun? 

He started forward, planning to get away from the two of them and the fight he was decidedly not a part of, but cold hands grabbed his hair and shoulder. 

“Here’s a nice warm one,” murmured a voice as fetid breath wafted across Call’s face. He struggled, but the hold on him was inhumanly strong.

“Oh, don’t,” cooed the voice. “It’s so much better if you hold still.” A raspy tongue flicked across Call’s throat.

Call kicked back with his boot and felt his spur connect. There was a squeal in his ear and the grip loosened enough for Call to spin around, gun pointed. 

He was facing a creature from Hell. Fangs, slitted eyes, drooling – this was all the impression Call got as the thing launched itself at him. He squeezed off a few shots, which drove it back, but amazingly did not kill it.

“Hey!” Call heard the woman yell. “You have to hit it in the heart! With a stake!”

“What?” Call shouted. The monster pinned him on his back and he desperately tried to keep it from biting him, shoving his leather-clad forearm against its throat.. 

Suddenly it disappeared from on top of him. Call watched as the woman held the creature up by its throat and jammed her stick into its chest -- and it dissolved into dust. Then she turned and looked up the street.

“Damn. He ran off.” 

“What was that? Who are you? What the _hell_ is going on?”

“That,” the woman indicated the dust, which was now streaming away in a light breeze, “was a vampire. _I_ am a vampire slayer. As to what is going on, you saw. Carnage, feeding, dead bodies.”

“What’s a vampire?”

The woman ran a hand through her shiny blonde hair, which had miraculously remained unmussed through the battle. “Oh, boy. You’ve got to love the Wild West. Vast tracts of the great uninformed. Listen – what’s your name?” 

“Call.”

“Call. I’m Buffy. I have to do a sweep of the town and make sure there are no more of Galen’s children chowing down. I need to see if anyone’s been left alive. If you want to help, I can explain as we go.”

Buffy stepped into the street. Call followed her wordlessly. 

“So, vampires. They’re demons in human form that drink blood to stay alive. Or undead. Whatevs. They used to be people, but were turned by another vampire.” Buffy kicked open the door to a drygoods shop and went in. Another creature -- _vampire_ , Call mentally corrected himself -- threw itself over the main counter. Buffy stuck it with her stick without even breaking the flow of her chatter. Call tried to maintain a similar aplomb.

“How do they get turned?”

“Well, first the vamp drains you until you’re nearly dead, and then you drink their blood. Basically, it’s a whole big sucking thing,” Buffy went into the stockroom and came back out. “All clear.”

“Why are you here?” 

“I’ve asked myself that _so_ many times,” Buffy sighed. “I’m supposed to be in 2001 California. But this vamp, Galen, showed up and when he found out I could beat him, he basically opened a time portal and escaped. My friend used a magic spell so I could follow him. I’ve been jumping for a while now and this is the closest I’ve gotten.” 

Call digested this information in characteristic silence. He’d seen too many strange things in his travels – the Saint of Killers, the Angel of Death, dreamwalks – to dismiss this woman and her story. Especially not after recent events. 

“I can help you,” he stated.

Buffy stopped and faced him. For the first time he noticed how odd she looked. She wore pants that looked like they were made of leather, but they were a shiny pink, and she had a nearly sheer white shirt on with her undershift showing. 

“No offense, Call, but I saw you, and you don’t have the first clue about how to kill vampires. I lost Galen so that you wouldn’t become a vamp snack.” 

“I’m a bounty hunter. I’m a quick study when it comes to killing. I can help you track Galen. ” Call replied. 

Buffy regarded him skeptically. Then she shrugged. “Okay. But they’re not easy to kill.”

“Just another kind of varmint,” Call said laconically. 

“Sad, but true,” Buffy replied. She dusted off her hands. “I think Galen has taken his entourage with him. We may as well try and get some sleep.” 

“We can sleep in the church.” Call stated. “I’ll take first watch.” 

“That’s actually a good idea,” Buffy replied. “They won’t come onto consecrated ground.”

Call fetched the Hellbitch. The filly was skittish with the smell of blood, violence, and strangeness all around. He petted her nose and murmured soothing sounds to her until her breathing calmed. 

“Come on, girl,” Call led her over to where Buffy was waiting. She shivered, rubbing her arms.

“Is it always this cold?” she asked.

“Be a sight warmer if you was wearing proper clothes,” Call said in disapproval.

“Well, I didn’t get a chance to pack a bag before I went after Galen,” Buffy retorted. 

“Church is this way,” Call ignored her tartness and turned towards the church. Buffy fell into step next to him. 

“So what were _you_ doing here at this time of night?” 

“Just passing through.”

“Going where?” 

Call glared at Buffy resentfully. “Ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” 

“It’s the only way to learn!” Buffy replied in a pert, sing-song voice.

Call felt her cheeriness was entirely inappropriate and chose not to respond, lapsing into surly silence instead.

The church was a simple wooden building with a cross on top that doubled as a school during the working week. They got there without further incident or conversation, for which Call was silently grateful.

“You sure we’ll be safe in here?” Call asked.

“Should be, but you’d better bring in your horse. Galen might slaughter her out of spite.” 

Call followed Buffy up the steps, leading the Hellbitch, who wasn’t inclined to balk after the night she’d had. He unpacked his bedroll and began the task of settling her down for the night. Buffy sat on a pew and pulled her off her boots, letting out a tired sigh. 

Call looked over at her. “You got a blanket?” Buffy shook her head. “Use mine.” He tossed it and she caught it neatly out of the air. She unrolled it and wrapped herself in it until only the top of her head showed. 

“Wake me when you get tired,” Buffy said, voice muffled. 

Call continued seeing to his horse and then went to sit out on the top step of the church. He emptied his mind to better listen to the night. Small animal noises were starting up again, a signal that the unnatural events of the evening were over with for a time. 

When the stars had wheeled around in their orbit, Call got up and awoke Buffy for her turn on watch. He slid into the still-warm blankets she’d left and fell asleep quickly.

_Cold hands grasping his shoulders, shaking, drawing him into a demonic face --_

Call thrashed around, trying to dislodge the monster’s grip, and came up with his gun pointing at Buffy’s startled face. 

“Could you sleep any heavier?” Buffy snapped, backing away. “I thought you’d died.” 

Call uncocked the gun. “Shouldn’t sneak up on a man when he’s sleeping.”

“Or _armed_.” Buffy retorted. “Is there anything to eat?” 

“Don’t suppose _you_ brought food,” Call shed the blanket as he stood.

“Didn’t get a chance to pack a lunch before time-traveling, either,” Buffy mimicked Call’s terse response and he shot her a dirty look. 

“Is everyone in town dead?” Call asked.

“Most likely,” Buffy admitted. She looked genuinely sad, and Call realized that her quipping was just a shield for the grim work she obviously did all the time. That made him less annoyed at her seeming shallowness. 

“We need to bury them.” Call said. “It’s the decent thing to do.”

“We should burn them, actually,” Buffy replied.

Call was horrified. “Why?” 

“In case any of them might rise.” 

Call couldn’t absorb this. Vampires, demons, an entire town slaughtered, and now, burning bodies. It was obscene.

“Ain’t there any other way?” 

“The only way to prevent a fledgling from rising is to cut its head off, stake it, or burn it.” 

Call thought about the three unpleasant choices, and realized that burning was the simplest option. 

Simplest. Not easiest. Call drew in a breath and set his shoulders.

“This is going to be horrible.”

“I know,” Buffy said gravely. “Let’s get started.”

Call prepared a minimal breakfast, although neither he nor Buffy had much appetite. 

“We’ll put them in the church. Just to make sure,” he said. Buffy nodded. 

He saddled up the Hellbitch and rode her to the end of the small town. He went into the livery and hitched her to a light wagon. He could have used a couple of the larger horses that were still alive, but he didn’t want to let his own horse out of his sight.

They started at the saloon. It was grim labor. Buffy worked tirelessly, seeming stronger than her small size would have indicated. 

It was worse when they searched the small living quarters over the shops. Whole families had been slaughtered. 

Call felt cold fury and nausea when he carried a little girl in her nightgown down to the wagon. Buffy’s eyes were full of angry tears as she gently placed a baby boy with his mother. 

By early afternoon, all the dead had been put into the church. Buffy and Call splashed kerosene over the pews and window frames, on the doors and steps. 

“Stand back,” Call said. He flicked a lit match through the open door. Flames rose immediately in aggressive yellow and orange walls. 

Call felt the heat on his face, lost in the memory of another fire, one that had taken everything from him. A high keening wail rose out of the conflagration, snapping him out of his reverie. 

The wail was joined by other screams. They spiraled higher and higher in pitch until Call thought his ears would bleed.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed.

“We got them,” Buffy sounded grimly satisfied. 

The massive heat drove them away from the building. A slight breeze blew the smoke away from them, so they didn’t have to smell the burning bodies. 

A small mercy. 

“Should we say a prayer or something?” Buffy asked.

“What would you say?” Call responded.

“I don’t know,” Buffy stated. She continued to stare into the fire. “After this, I will definitely need a bath.”

Call looked over at Buffy. Her sheer blouse was grubby with blood and dirt smeared on it. Same for the shiny pink pants. 

“There are clothes at the mercantile you might could use.” 

“Ooh, western chic,” Buffy said flippantly. Call frowned.

It was well past dark when the huge funeral pyre finally burnt itself down to embers.

“We should be safe tonight,” said Buffy.

“How do you know?” 

“She doesn’t, of course. Did you enjoy your little barbecue, Slayer?” 

“What is it with you and sneaking up on people, Galen?” Buffy turned slowly, her annoyance at the vampire’s intrusion evident. 

“You are far too attentive to attack head-on, my dear,” replied Galen.

“I’m not your _dear_ ,” Buffy growled. 

She ran at the vamp, who punched her with stunning speed and force. She turned a somersault in midair and landed, astonishingly, on her feet. She aimed a roundhouse kick at the vampire’s chest, which knocked him down. Then Buffy executed a spinning kick as Galen attempted to rise, connecting with his face. He grunted and fell back again. Buffy closed on him, pummeling him mercilessly until he sprawled on his back. 

Call watched in awe. Buffy was taking hits that would have rendered him unconscious or dead. What was this girl made of? 

He couldn’t even think of getting off a shot, their fight was moving so quickly. All he could do was stay on the sidelines and watch, gun useless in his hand, tension winding around his spine like a rusty spring.

Buffy stepped on Galen’s throat, crushing it. Galen whistled in pain through mangled vocal cords. 

“I’m tired of chasing you, Galen,” Buffy stomped on Galen’s chest, breaking his sternum. “I didn’t like the Roaring Twenties, the First, Second, Korean _or_ Vietnam wars, and I _don’t_ like the Wild West.” Buffy looked over at Call. “No offense.”

“None taken.” 

“I’m going to dust you, and then I’m going back to the 21st century where I can take a shower and get myself some Thai food.”

Buffy stopped her mangling of the vampire. “Any last words?” Galen glared balefully up at her, wheezing. “Oh, I forgot. Goodbye, then,” she plunged her stake into Galen’s chest. He exploded into a cloud of dust.

Buffy collapsed onto her back. “Whew!” she said. “Now I can go home.”

Call offered the young woman a hand up. “How’re you getting back, anyway?”

“No idea. It’s a magic thing. I may just go poof right here.” 

Call felt a twinge of regret. Not that he would miss her. She talked too much. Still, she was good at what she did, and that was worth some respect. 

“Guess I won’t get a chance to do any tracking for you.”

“It does shorten the process when the varmints come to you,” Buffy smiled wryly, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

There was an awkward silence. 

“So, where can I get that bath?” Buffy said abruptly.

“Bath house. We checked it yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah. Can you show me how it works?”

Call nodded and led the way. 

It took some time to get the water heated. While they waited, Buffy got some clean clothes from the general store while Call filled two tubs. 

They were separated by a partition in the bathhouse, but Call still felt leery about undressing with a woman so close by. Even though he wasn’t overfond of baths, he was anxious to get the smell of death off him, so he quashed his discomfort.

Call heard Buffy enter the other room and get into the tub. She sighed and splashed around a little bit. She started singing softly, almost under her breath. It was sweet and soothing, and Call was so weary. He leaned back in the tub and didn’t notice he’d fallen asleep – until he awoke abruptly. 

Call had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but the adjoining room was ominously silent. 

“Buffy?” Call received no answer. He stood and grabbed his gun, walking naked around the partition. 

Buffy’s shed clothing was still scattered next to the tub, which was still full of water. The clothes she had planned to change into were piled neatly on a small shelf.

Call examined the room minutely and noticed that the water in the tub swirled in a closing spiral, as if something had been plucked from it. 

“Guess she went poof,” Call murmured. He went back to his bath, finishing quickly. With Buffy gone, the place seemed less welcoming. 

*

Willow chanted with her eyes closed, her head thrown back, and arms outstretched. Inside a chalk circle, a glowing sphere formed, settled in the center, and faded to reveal Buffy. She held a bar of soap and wore nothing but a look of outrage.

“Buffy!” Willow exclaimed in dismay. Giles turned his back quickly and Anya covered Xander’s eyes. 

“You’re…naked!” Willow concluded lamely.

“I was _taking_ a _bath_.” Buffy said pointedly. She stood up. “Some clothes would be nice, since my outfit is now in the 19th century.” Dawn scampered into the workout room to retrieve something for Buffy to wear. 

“I take it you defeated Galen?” Giles queried, his back still to Buffy. 

“Obviously. Otherwise I couldn’t come back,” she said, pulling a tank top over her head. 

“Where did you end up?” Xander asked, pushing Anya’s hand off his face. She huffed at him. 

“The Wild West, actually.” Buffy replied, pulling on some shoes. “I met a bounty hunter. He could’ve given Oz a run for his money in the terseness department.” 

“Oh, really? You must tell me all about it.” Giles said. 

“I will. _After_ you get me some Thai food.” Buffy strode out of the magic shop, leaving Giles gaping after her. 

*

Call left the new ghost town after his bath. He rode the Hellbitch and led a string of horses from the town’s livery. Many of them were pulling wagons with supplies from the general store. 

He travelled along a barely used path until he reached a small Indian encampment he was familiar with. He stopped at the edge of it, dismounted, and walked to one of the wagons. He pulled his saddlebags, which were now full of supplies and money, from the back of the wagon, and loaded up the Hellbitch. He left everything else, knowing that the small tribe would put them to good use.

Then Call remounted, turned towards the West, and rode on.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during some exceedingly boring classes in library school in 2001. My brain basically said, "Hey, what if Call met Buffy? what would he think of her?" I had Buffy come to him, because Call's culture shock at 2001 California was too much work for me to contemplate. Also, this was a good follow-up to "Call and the Saint of Killers".
> 
> All love to [tryxchange](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tryxchange) for reading and critiquing and encouragement.


End file.
